Poets are Fools and the Jesters of Love

Poets are fools and the jesters of Love.
Deceived by Cupid, they weave words into
Illusions stretching to the stars above,
For his intent, thought pure, leads men askew;
Love's gilt, seeming gold, has been stripped away
By sonneteers' tales of disguis'd lust,
And hearts – once immortal – now broken, lay
Hollow as promises crumble to dust;
Lyrics penned at passion’s fiery birth
Melt away, revealing concupiscent
Lies; and all our vows of Heaven and Earth
Burn to ash in flames fueled by discontent.
Oh, be thou prepared to defend thy heart
When poets swear devotion in their art.

I Fear Sleep for the Dreams That Often Come

A villanelle for Arthur H. Monigold.


I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
In the darkest hours after midnight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

Engulfed in blackness, I sense the phantom
Approach, but I cannot flee, cannot fight;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

Powerless, I am once more his victim.
Past trespass will allow no rest tonight,
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

My innocence again becomes flotsam,
Broken by incestuous appetite;
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come.

The shame of my own guilt becomes tiresome
To bear, though memory will still indict
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.

To unrestrained emotions I succumb,
While praying these nightmares fade in day's light.
I fear sleep for the dreams that often come
When my mind is defenseless, my heart numb.